


Nightmares

by Black_Crystal_Dragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Coda, Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode: s01e10 The Moment of Truth, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Missing Scene, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-25
Updated: 2008-11-25
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Crystal_Dragon/pseuds/Black_Crystal_Dragon
Summary: The Battle of Ealdor is over and Kanen and his band have been defeated. During the journey back to Camelot, Merlin has nightmares.Coda to the series 1 episode The Moment of Truth.





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Archived to AO3 on 19 April 2018.

When Arthur awoke, it was still pitch black, and he was momentarily disorientated by the lack of warm sheets and a soft mattress. Then memories returned, and he stopped struggling against his single, red blanket and lay still. He was uncertain what had woken him, but a moment later a whimper from a few feet away ended his confusion. He sat up, trying to remain as quiet as possible so as not to wake Gwen and Morgana, and reached out through the darkness for Merlin’s shoulder. He located Merlin’s chest easily, and felt a pang of worry lance through him when he realised that Merlin was trembling, his breath coming far too fast.

Arthur glanced over to the cold remains of their fire. There was not even a glowing ember to light the far side of the camp, where the girls were sleeping, but there were no sounds of movement; they were still sleeping soundly. Arthur shifted across the leaves until he could reach Merlin’s shoulder. He shook gently, leaning close to whisper his name. Merlin stirred, a choked sob escaping from his throat, and Arthur gripped his shoulder more tightly, shaking him harder. “Merlin. Wake up!”

Merlin woke with a gasp, jerking away from Arthur’s hand and rolling onto his stomach. Arthur could hear that each breath Merlin took was harsh and ragged; his hand moved of its own accord, resting blindly on Merlin’s back. He was still shaking, but at least his breathing was no longer as frantic.

“Merlin?” Arthur murmured, careful to keep his voice low. He listened to Merlin sniffling for a moment longer, then moved his hand up to the other man’s shoulder and tugged until Merlin took the hint and stopped trying to smother himself in his own makeshift pillow.

Now that his eyes were used to the darkness, Arthur could make out Merlin’s vague shape as he sat up, but he could not see his face. He saw him bring his hands up to scrub at his eyes, and was momentarily glad of the dark, if only for the sake of Merlin’s pride. Eventually, Merlin took a deep breath and let it out again slowly, and seemed to be calm. Arthur squeezed his shoulder, and finally Merlin spoke in a whisper. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s all right,” Arthur replied quietly, making sure that there was not even a trace of annoyance in his voice. He had a good idea of what was bothering Merlin, but he wouldn’t push; not with this. Instead he let his hand rest on Merlin’s shoulder and simply sat there, hoping that Merlin would understand that he would gladly listen.

Merlin, however, just sat there sniffing occasionally, the slouch of his shoulders betraying his misery, and Arthur – though he wanted to be patient – didn’t want to have to sit here all night. They both needed sleep, after all; they still had to face a long ride back to Camelot the next day.

“Bad dreams?” he prompted. Merlin started, and immediately Arthur felt a twinge of guilt. It occurred to him, rather belatedly, that Merlin might not want to talk to him. The thought set a shard of hurt in his chest against his heart, which he could not push away. He swallowed hard and decided to hold his tongue. If Merlin wanted to speak, he would.

“I killed people,” Merlin said eventually, so softly that Arthur barely heard the words. Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath and Arthur tightened his grip slightly on his shoulder. It was still their only point of tenuous contact, and Arthur knew how important the touch could be. It was always hard, coming to terms with ending another human life; Arthur knew that well enough, both from his own experiences and from those of his men. For Merlin, however, he knew that it had to be even worse. He had not been raised as a fighter, nor trained to kill by an array of weapons-masters since childhood, as he and his knights had. He had not been taught how to deal with the blood that was now on his hands.

Arthur also suspected that he was not prepared for the sudden deaths that the battle had inevitably brought, particularly the death of Will. Arthur himself was grieved enough to see the dead, but Merlin had been born in that village that wasn’t even worthy of a mark on a map; he had grown up as a part of that community. For Merlin, those who had died were people he had known his whole life; they were his friends, not nameless villagers.

There was nothing Arthur could say to make it better. He heard Merlin take another deep breath that ended in a broken sob, and felt his heart clench. Instinctively, he pulled on Merlin’s shoulder, drawing him closer so that he could wrap his arms around him. It was an awkward embrace, made worse by Merlin’s apparent reluctance to touch more than four square inches of Arthur at a time. Then Arthur felt the wetness on Merlin’s cheek as he turned his head and his face brushed against his neck, and his own breath caught.

Without thinking, Arthur tightened his arms around Merlin, one hand coming up to caress the back of his head, his fingers winding into Merlin’s dark hair. There were still no words, and Arthur knew that making condescending hushing noises would not help, and so he simply held on tightly to Merlin until he gave in and lifted his arms, his fingers digging into the material of Arthur’s shirt as he clung to him. Arthur pressed Merlin’s face into his neck and closed his eyes, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth until Merlin’s shoulders stopped shaking and no fresh tears fell against his skin.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered, resting the side of his head against Arthur’s shoulder and making no attempt to move. He sounded exhausted, Arthur thought as he felt Merlin’s fingers unclench from the back of his shirt. He looked down at him, allowing his fingers to comb through Merlin’s hair.

“Are you all right?” Arthur murmured, and felt rather than saw Merlin nod in reply. After a few more moments, Merlin lifted his head and started to lean away.

“I should let you –”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, stopping him simply by locking the muscles in his arms and refusing to remove them from Merlin’s body. “Really – are you?”

Merlin appeared to consider this for a while, his face angled towards Arthur’s; Arthur stared back, wondering whether, if there was enough light to see by, they would even be having this conversation. Eventually, Merlin sighed.

“No. People I care about are dead, and other people are dead because of me.” He broke off, and Arthur felt something squeeze tightly inside his chest. He took a breath to speak, but before he could say anything Merlin continued, “But I will be. Eventually.”

“Good,” Arthur replied, finally releasing him. Merlin edged away from Arthur’s side, but Arthur’s fingers caught his shoulder and he stopped.

“What?”

Arthur paused, uncertain why he had reached out at all. Embarrassment be damned, he wished that there was more light; it was difficult to read Merlin’s reactions by indistinct body-language alone. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t think any less of you,” he said, with heartfelt sincerity. “Killing is never a pleasant task – but in this case it had to be done.”

“I know that,” Merlin said softly. The tone of his voice – full of both resolve and remorse – made Arthur want to reach out and pull him close once again, but he forced his hands to remain in his lap. It wouldn’t be proper to touch Merlin again, not now; it was bad enough that he had done so before. Princes weren’t supposed to comfort their servants after a battle.

A treacherous part of Arthur’s brain reminded him that everyone was allowed to comfort their friends. He swallowed hard, and was about to reach out for Merlin again when the other man abruptly muttered a brief ‘good night’ and lay down, rolling onto his side so that he faced away from Arthur.

For a long moment, Arthur stared down at the curve of Merlin’s back under the blanket. He reached over and squeezed his shoulder once more, then shifted back over to where his stiff, uncomfortable pillow lay, and started fighting to get his blanket straightened out.

He had barely got it sorted when Merlin propped himself up on one elbow and twisted around to look at him. “Arthur?”

“What?” he asked. Merlin hesitated, and Arthur let out a deep sigh. However, he forced himself to keep his tone patient. “We have a long day tomorrow, and we both need rest. Spit it out.”

“Could you –” Merlin began, then halted and took a deep breath before trying again. “I mean, would you mind –”

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, a trace of irritation creeping into his voice despite his best efforts.

“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin said in a rush, flopping back down and curling up into a foetal ball. Arthur frowned; his concern far outweighed his fatigue, and so he grabbed his pillow and moved back over to where Merlin lay.

“What is it?” he said, poking Merlin in the back with a finger. Merlin half rolled over and peered at him, his body radiating uncertainty.

“You didn’t have to come over …” he said haltingly. “You can go back over there, if you want.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “You want me to … stay here?”

“If you don’t mind,” Merlin admitted, as quietly as he could. “You – I don’t think I’ll sleep as badly, if – if you’re here …”

Arthur smiled and took pity on him, cutting off any further explanation. “All right.”

He heard Merlin’s sigh of relief, and inwardly chuckled as Merlin rolled over again so that his back was to Arthur. Without thinking, Arthur shifted closer, curling his body against Merlin’s back. Merlin momentarily stiffened, then when Arthur threw an arm casually over his waist and pulled him close he melted against his chest and snuggled closer still.

Arthur reached down to pull his blanket up over himself, and noticed at last that his entire shoulder was damp. He pulled a face. “You drooled all over my shirt, didn’t you?”

“Probably,” Merlin replied, and Arthur could tell that he was smiling irreverently. Arthur made an unhappy noise against Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

“I should have you put in the stocks,” he grumbled, although the threat was somewhat spoiled by the huge yawn that broke into the middle of his sentence.

“You did bring it upon yourself,” Merlin pointed out.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur told him, pressing his face into his hair and breathing deeply. “And go to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know Merlin’s killed people with magic before _The Moment of Truth_ , but he’s never done so directly, with his own hands. I imagine that killing someone with a sword would have more of an affect on him, because it’s a lot more personal.


End file.
